


Save the Last Dance

by tentsubasa



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentsubasa/pseuds/tentsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Armin Arlert gets paired with the harsh and technically perfect Annie Leonhart to put on the dance show of a lifetime, he knows he's in way over his head. But with his career on the line, he's determined to make things work one way or another. Who knows? Maybe it won't be so bad...provided she doesn't kill him.</p><p>Mentions of BeruYumi and EreMika.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Hello! The very kind and talented Lainadraws over at Tumblr wrote a one-shot (below) and has very graciously given me permission to continue her story. So this chapter belongs to her and subsequent chapters will be mine. I hope the change in writing styles won't be too jarring. f(^^; )**   
  
**Disclaimer: Neither of us own _Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan_ or any affiliates.**

* * *

Armin cleared his throat, smiling nervously at the man with the clipboard.  
  
"Uh, excuse me?" he questioned.  
  
The man looked up from his notes, the thin Sharpie in his hand ceasing its scribbling.  
  
"H-hi."  
  
"Hello?" The man seemed tired and irritated.  
  
Armin nodded, adjusting the backpack on his shoulders. "This…this is 104 East 12th, right?"  
  
The man nodded his head, returning his attention back to the board. "Yes."  
  
"I-I was told to be here?"  
  
The man looked up once more. He was short with a black undercut, and a noticeably short temper. "Armin Arlert."  
  
"Yes!" The blonde nodded. "That's me."  
  
"Ah." The man held the clipboard to his chest, looking stern. "You're late."  
  
"I know, I know," Armin shook his head. "I apologize. I got lost along the way. Somehow, I ended up in Chinatown…."  
  
"Not my fault you can't keep track of your own two feet," the man scolded. "You're lucky we've got another dancer running late. Your partner."  
  
Relief flooded over Armin. He wouldn't be alone, the new jerk who got swallowed up by New York City.  
  
The man frowned. "Wipe that smirk of your face, would you? She's a vet here, don't get too excited."  
  
"R-right."  
  
The man tucked the board under his arm, holding his hand out. "Levi Rivialle."  
  
"Armin." He shook the man's hand.  
  
"That woman over there's our director, Hanji," Levi stated, pointing to a tall woman in a long skirt and glasses, a psychotic smile on her face.  
  
"Just Hanji?"  
  
"To you? Yes."  
  
Armin nodded.  
  
"And our sponsor, Mr. Smith, isn't here today, so you can thank God for siding with your sorry ass this morning. We've got the other dancers over there you can go…associate with. Your partner gave my assistant a ring earlier. Apparently she'll be here any minute, but with Annie, that could mean she's halfway up some ass-crack alleyway down in Queens."  
  
As if on cue, the door was flung open, colliding into the wall it was bolted to.  
  
A short blonde shuffled in, baggy sweatpants on her hips, a bag at her side, and her hair in a bun.  
  
"Speak of the devil." Levi tucked the board under his arm once more, waving his hand. "Oi, Annie. Get over here."  
  
The girl dumped her bag by the wall, making her way to where Armin and the short man stood.  
  
"This is your partner for the benefit," Levi introduced.  
  
"Ar—."  
  
"Armin Arlert," the short man interrupted. Armin clamped his mouth shut.  
  
Her eyes cut through him, as if examining him would judge everything she needed to know about him.  
  
She stuck her hand out. "Annie Leonhardt."  
  
"Leonhardt," Armin repeated, shaking her hand. "Is that…German?"  
  
"No."  
  
The bluntness made him freeze. "O…kay."  
  
She twisted around, making for her bag as Levi signaled to Hanji. The woman clapped her hands, summoning everyone to pay attention.  
  
Armin looked to his partner. She peeled away her sweatpants, stepping out in her dance clothing: black stockings and shorts and dance shoes, colored an unusually soft pink the complimented her eyes.  
  
"I'm glad you all could make it," Hanji greeted everyone. "I want to take a moment to appreciate all of you being here with us. It's not an easy feat. Most of you have been called upon. Some of you auditioned. In any case, it means you're great. And you're being paid to put on the best damn show you can possibly put on."  
  
A few of the dancers clapped.  
  
"Now, not all of you know each other, know your partners, so we're going to take the first day to fool around a bit. Shit gets serious tomorrow and from then on out, so I want us to enjoy today. Today is a bloodless, vomit-less, painless day to get to know the man or woman or what have you that you're going to be spending the next eight months with. Now, partner up!" She clapped her hands. "I want you all to dance to the music, no matter what the style. We've got a dozen different stylistic dancers in here. I don't give a fuck what you're doing as long as you're dancing."  
  
"We gonna play any of Levi's thug music?" a boy with a gray shaven head snickered.  
  
"Piss off, Connie," Levi barked. "Sasha."  
  
The girl that sat beside him, one with dark hair, slapped him in the back of the head. He groaned, swatting her hand away.  
  
Armin rubbed his arm self-conciously. These people were a family. They already knew one another. He was the outsider, penetrating their community.  
  
"First track," Hanji announced, taking a seat beside Levi. She pressed a button on her radio, the CD whirring to life. The music began, thumping through the air.  
  
The dancers filtered into their two-person groups.  
  
"Partner up, let's go, let's go!" Hanji commanded.  
  
Armin turned around to Annie, her eyes disinterested.  
  
Drums beat through the air. Annie straightened up. "You know ballroom, right?" she asked in a low, condescending voice.  
  
"Of course," he murmured, placing a hand on her hip. He held out his hand and she let her palm grasp onto his.  
  
Violin's pierced the air, a shiver racing through his body. Annie pointed her toe, letting it glide across the floor, sweeping in a circle, lifting it up Armin's side. He dipped her low, their faces close enough that their noses touched. They froze as the music fizzled into a temporary cease.  
  
"Good, good, good," Hanji clapped. "Excellent form, everyone."  
  
The violin came back, breaking through the walls, invading his ears, his body.  
  
The pair straightened up instantly, their bodies pressed so tightly together, they could have melded into one.  
  
Slowly, her left foot slide back. He followed with his right. Armin kept up with every backwards step Annie took. Quick and slow, long and short.  
  
They paused, her hand tracing up his spine, over his head, over both of their heads.  
  
He quickly held tighter to her hip as she rolled her back, arching over his arm, her hand stroking the air above her.  
  
As the music hit a high note, he pulled on her waist, her body snapping back up.  
  
Her eyes were blue fire.  
  
Their feet began a deadly crisscross. Her toe would drag across his shin, his ankle, light and calculating. He watched their feet tangle and untangle, tangle and untangle. She was taunting him, waiting for him to screw up.  
  
Testing him.  
  
Everything she did, every stop and sweep and step Annie pulled out, her mirrored. The tango was a fight, a death match. Neither would die if they were equal. If they were on even ground.  
  
Their feet quickened, small kicks, flicking ankles.  
  
Armin removed his arm from her back, holding her out long. She arched her leg, toe pointed. He watched her leg, her beautiful toned leg, rise and fall.  
  
She spun back into him, her back pressed against his chest. They froze a moment, slowly rocking from foot to foot.  
  
He felt a pressure on his groin as she pushed into him, her weight intentional.  
  
Annie spun in his arms, hand in his hand.  
  
Armin gulped. Annie smirked.  
  
Their feet began that dizzying tangle once more, quicker, longer. They nearly careened into other people.  
  
They were lost in each other's eyes, the game.  
  
Annie flung her leg up to kick; Armin caught her limb, fingers pressing into the back of her knee.  
  
The music began to swell.  
  
She stared at him with murderous intent.  
  
He gave her skin a soft squeeze, finger tips trailing down, down to the edge of her shorts.  
  
Violins were torn by their bows, screeching, screaming.  
  
Annie bent her leg over his hand, arched her back, running her hands down his chest.  
  
Fingernails scrapped over his shirt as she bent back.  
  
Armin felt a chill run up his spine. Her eyes were fire, her body was fire.  
  
Armin licked his lips. The music died. She lifted out of his hold, her hips swaying as she separated herself from him.  
  
Hanji clapped twice. The music changed.  
  
Annie's eyes were cold and biting, fire and ice.  
  
They would be together for eight months.  
  
She was going to burn him.

* * *

**And that is chapter 1! If you liked it, please go over to Lainadraws' Tumblr and like, reblog, etc. the story! The link is<http://lainadraws.tumblr.com/post/70845546088/aruani-au-where-they-are-dancers-n-stuff-i-will-love>. Or you can leave a comment AO3 style and I'll make sure it gets to her. (^_^)**


	2. Chapter 2

**And here begins my part. Thank you again a million times to Lainadraws! (^_^)**   
  
**My main disclaimer is below, but I'd like to say that I do not know very much about professional dancing. I took some dance lessons as a child, but never had to do anything like this. If you do dance and see inaccuracies, then please keep my inexperience in mind, but by all means, I'd love to have your input so I can make things more realistic. =)**   
  
**Disclaimer: I do not own _Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan_ or any affiliates. Nor did I come up with the original premise of this story.**

* * *

Armin had been Annie’s dance partner for a month, and he was already feeling more than a little charred. There’d be nothing left to him but a little lump of ash that would join his parents’ and grandparents’ in the family grave by the time this was over…if he even made it that far. If he’d been able to keep up his system of avoiding her whenever possible, he might have had a shot at making it out of this alive, but of course nothing could ever actually work out for him for once. Today they’d get their individual dance assignments, and from here on out, he’d be expected to spend at least two days every week holed up in a studio alone with her. He should start planning the funeral now.

Since Armin and Annie were two of the shortest performers and neither of them were particularly enamored with the thought of having to choreograph two dances together, they patiently waited on opposite sides of the room as the rest of their peers thronged around the assignment board. After the crowd had thinned out a bit, they somehow ended up next to each other staring at the plain printed sheet in bewilderment.

Annie excelled at harsh, powerful dances with rigid structure and great complexity: Tango, Paso Doble, Viennese Waltz, and Quickstep were her favorites. Dances that were done for competition more than pleasure, dances with lines that were graceful and beautiful in their austerity and raw power. It wasn’t that she wasn’t creative or passionate; she just appreciated control.

Armin tended toward more social dances himself: Jive, Swing, Cha-Cha, Hustle, and Salsa to name a few. Although he also relished the challenge of complicated dances like Slow Foxtrot and Viennese Waltz where the endless complexities of the steps and how they’d evolve into a myriad of patterns and variations fascinated him. While there were Jive and Swing dancers who had more stamina and strength than he did, no one could match his enthusiasm and creativity. When he danced, others found their moods rising and their feet itching to move.

So it was with much shock and displeasure that they saw they were assigned to do a Rumba and a Waltz. Neither of these were dances they particularly enjoyed or felt were strengths. Rumba was softer than Annie liked and more emotionally sensual than Armin felt consistently comfortable with: the Cha-Cha and Samba were casual and flirty, the Tango and Paso Doble a war of wills, and Salsa and Mambo were high energy and fun, but Rumba…there was a reason it was likened to making love on the dance floor. It was a vertical expression of a horizontal desire, and the mere thought of even attempting to make love to his icy pyre of a partner made Armin’s stomach knot in dread. And the Waltz…well, neither of them particularly hated the Waltz, but they weren’t particularly crazy about it either, and no dancer appreciated how the non-dance world automatically assumed all ballroom dances were Waltz. Why in the world Hange thought it a good idea for them to do these when they were sure to have been able to pull off a breathtaking Viennese Waltz, a heart-pounding Quickstep, or a lively Jive that would have people emptying out their wallets at the benefit was beyond them.

“This is unbelievable,” Annie muttered under her breath. There was no doubt about it: the crazy bat had finally lost her last screw.

Armin scanned the rest of the list with a furrowed brow. He admittedly hadn’t been here long, but as far as he could see, the rest of the dances assigned to the couples made sense. If they were long-time partners with the company, they were assigned to the dances he considered their strongest. If they were a pair like Annie and him, where one came in on audition and the other was a vet, at least one of the two was strong in their assignments. It was highly odd that they were the only people who were given dances that neither of them felt were strengths.

“You don’t think there’s a chance she mistyped, do you?” Armin muttered back.

Annie ignored him, not deigning to respond.

A random thought flickered through his brain and he almost chuckled. When they’d shared that first tango a month ago, he’d been sure she’d burn him alive. Annie was fire: arresting, powerful, and dangerous. But now that they’d been assigned these softer dances, he thought he might have less of a chance of being burned. “ _At least, not by fire anyway_ ,” he amended when he noted the frosty indignation radiating off of his dance partner as she continued to glower at the assignment sheet. One thing remained the same though: it was going to be a _long_ eight months.

Once the assignments came out, practices became staggered. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were for group dances with Tuesday and Thursday dedicated for practicing their assignments. Hange gave everyone the weekend to spend however they saw fit.

Over the next month, Armin and Annie barely acknowledged each other. They practiced twice a week and spent their free days practicing alone and often, in Armin’s case, with some of the other dancers. If they passed each other in the halls on these free days, Armin would usually tentatively smile and wave, but Annie’s frosty demeanor quelled any enthusiasm he’d built into the gesture at first. Despite their lack of chemistry, the group dances progressed well enough. They were both excellent dancers, so doing the routine wasn’t a problem, even if the execution was a tad stiffer than would be ideal. When alone together, however, almost nothing got done no matter how long they practiced. Every practice was the same: they re-familiarized themselves with the steps, the flow of the dances, the types of music that lent themselves to these styles, and tried to get a feel for their partner dynamic. And because that last one in particular needed a lot of work, nothing they ever choreographed stuck from practice to practice.

The instant the music ended, Annie ripped herself from her dance partner’s arms and stormed over to her music player. She ruthlessly shut the device down, channeling her desire to punch Armin in the face into each motion, and once again viciously cursed the Rumba. He was supposed to be dominating her. Good grief! She knew she wasn’t coy and shy, but at least she was trying to act the part, for Pete’s sake. Though it galled her to no end with such a submissive partner.

Armin felt somewhat similarly irritated as well, though his expression of it was simply sighing and running a hand through his golden chin-length hair. Annie had yet to actually become physically violent, but who knew what she’d do if he allowed a spark of his own temper to detonate the thin control she was holding on hers. He knew he wasn’t the most domineering personality around, but could she try and be a little less disdaining? They were supposed to be pretending to be in _love_ , and all he was getting out of her body language was cool contempt. He may not be the best dancer in the world, but he really was trying. This was a huge opportunity for his career, and he really, really couldn’t afford to mess this up.

He worried his lip as he ran his hands over his sweats. If they didn’t do something about their partner dynamic, no matter how aesthetically pleasing their routines may be, they’d fail to make any real impact. What more could he do to get her to warm up to him? He’d been friendly, let her take lead on choreography (not that it had helped), and given her as much space as he could without shirking practice. There had to be something— _anything_ —that could make things better. “ _Maybe…. No…. But it might…? But then again…. Oh, screw it. I doubt I can do anything to make her loathe me more._ ”

As his dance partner went over to get her water bottle, he suddenly asked, “Want to go out?”

Annie paused mid-swig. “Excuse me?”

“Go out, like, for food?” Armin clarified tiredly. If he’d been with anyone else, he’d have stumbled over himself in embarrassment, but he was too exhausted to care; it was just Annie. “It’s late, we’re probably both starving, and considering that our partner dynamic is the main problem here, maybe we should try hashing some things out in someplace that’s not a dance studio for once.”

The slight girl mulled the offer over for a minute before giving a terse nod and grabbing her bag. “Fine. We’re getting Chinese. Front door in half an hour.”

“O—” the door slammed closed, “kay…” his voice trailed off. “Glad to know my opinion counts,” he mumbled as he grabbed his own dance bag to go hit the showers.

Once Armin had showered and changed clothes, he felt more prepared to face the rest of the likely extremely unpleasant evening.

“Hey,” a strong voice greeted him from behind.

Armin turned with a smile. “Hi, Reiner.” Reiner Braun was one of the veterans at the company and a kind of older brother figure to everyone; Armin couldn’t even begin to count the number of useful tips he’d gotten from the muscular giant already. “How was practice?”

“Good. Krista’s been amazing to work with, and she’s small, so we’ve been having lots of fun messing around with different lifts and tricks. How’re things with Annie?”

Armin’s mood slumped. “Not…not great. Did you see our assignments?”

“Yeah, everyone was kind of surprised. Annie’s never liked the Rumba, and the Waltz isn’t her strongest dance.”

“I’m not really all that crazy about either dance myself. I actually asked Hange if there’d been some sort of mistake after everyone left, but she just smiled and said there was no mistake.” Armin heaved a deep sigh. “I still don’t see how it can’t be a mistake though. Personality-wise, we seem to be the worst possible couple for this. We’re actually going to grab some Chinese in a few to try and hash some things out.”

“Chinese? Man, you must’ve really ticked her off,” Reiner chuckled. “Chinese is her DEFCON 3 comfort food.”

Armin raised an eyebrow and filed the information away for reference. “What’s DEFCON 1?”

“Mac & cheese, smothered mashed potatoes, and loaded nachos. If you ever hear her ask for these three things, run for the hills because you’re about to die. Painfully and horribly.”

It was difficult to shove the foreboding thought out of his head, but he managed to somehow. “I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

“Annie, Bertolt, and I go way back. We went to the same dance studio when we were kids. Out of all the kids there, only the three of us went pro. We’ve both danced with her over the years, but we never meshed well enough to become permanent partners.”

“I see. Was she always this intense?”

Reiner barked in laughter. “Oh yeah. Annie’s a spitfire. She’s got a kind of relaxed definition of ‘on time’ sometimes, but outside of that, you’ll never find someone more disciplined.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Armin agreed. “She’s strong, focused, and quietly passionate. I admire how precisely she moves and the attention she pays to her lines, but I wish she’d, I don’t know, loosen up a bit or something. It’s not that she isn’t graceful or that she’s not able to get into the music, but…even as she gets into the music, she never really…loses herself in it. Like…she doesn’t become the part she’s supposed to play in the dance; she just pretends she does. And maybe a spectator, even a judge, can’t tell, but as her partner, I can, and it’s like there’s a thin, invisible layer of rigidity in her dancing that makes it difficult for us to really respond to one another the way we need to in these dances. Do…do you know what I mean?”

The larger boy leaned against the lockers thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think so. I think a lot of that stems from her personality, though. Annie’s always been sort of a lone wolf. She works well enough with other people if she absolutely has to, but she prefers to dance and practice by herself.” He smirked. “She’s probably spent more time practicing with you in these two months than she has with any other partner for the same amount of time.”

Armin rubbed his temple like he was getting a migraine. “It’s probably because we haven’t been able to really get anything done.”

“Probably.” Reiner held up his hands in defense at the pout the shorter boy sent him. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything. I mean, there’s a reason a dancer as phenomenal as Annie hasn’t ever had a steady dance partner, but keep trying. Who knows? Maybe you two will figure out something over your noodles tonight and will become Rumba and Waltz masters.”

“Har-har,” Armin grumbled. He was about to ask another question when he paled and looked at his watch. “Uh oh.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to meet Annie at the front door over twenty minutes ago,” he groaned. “She’s really going to let me have it when I see her tomorrow.”

“She’s probably still waiting. Better run before she tans your hide though. If there’s one thing that girl hates, it’s the cold.”

“If she hates the cold, then why would she—?”

“Just go! You don’t want her to switch restaurants on you!”

“Switch our restaurant? Err, forget it. I’ll see you!” He waved and dashed out of the room, racing for the front entrance. He immediately felt bad when he caught sight of her through the window as he paused to wrestle open the door that led to the main room. She was shivering slightly despite being bundled up in a pea coat, scarf, and gloves.

The instant she heard his heavy breathing, she nailed him to the wall with her eyes. “Get lost in the locker room for half an hour?”

“I’m sorry, really, I am,” he apologized. “Reiner and I were talking and I lost track of time.” He fidgeted nervously as she continued to glower at him. “S-so…a-are we s-s-still on for Ch-Chinese?”

She leveled him with a hard stare that made him squirm.

“ _Please say, ‘Yes.’ Please say, ‘Yes.’ Please say, ‘Yes.’_ ”

“…You’re paying,” she spat before turning heel and striding out the door.

He cringed but grudgingly admitted to himself that he probably deserved as much for making her wait out in the drafty front entrance for almost half an hour while he and Reiner talked about her behind her back. He just hoped she didn’t eat a lot; short, thin people could be deceiving.

The tiny restaurant she led him to wasn’t very far away, and from the way she handed him a menu without taking one herself, he assumed she was a regular.

“So…what do you recommend?”

“…10, 41, or 58, but I’ve never had problems with anything else I’ve ordered.” No sooner had the words come out of her mouth when someone stopped by to take their order. Nodding at the waiter, Annie stated, “I’ll have a 58.”

“Umm, the 10 for me, please,” Armin decided randomly from the remaining two recommendations.

Awkward silence reigned after the waiter collected their orders. Annie’s eyes roamed the shop vacantly while Armin worried his lip trying to find a way to start a conversation. Eventually, he huffed and took to watching his dinner partner instead as he sipped his tea.

Pale blonde hair like the first streaks of dawn was tied into a strict bun on the back of her head, any stray hair pinned back with black bobby pins. Her skin was pale and clear, and her face, especially her nose and chin, composed of sharp angles. And her eyes, two ice blue ovals set deeply into her face; from what he’d gathered over the last couple of months, she showed most of her emotion through her eyes. Not that she had any trouble showing negative emotions like irritation or anger on the rest of it, but usually her scowls began with blazing blue. Right now, they were flat and emotionless, as if she’d closed herself off into a different plane of existence. Considering that he wasn’t trying to get her attention at the moment, he didn’t really care, so he let his observations wander down to her long, graceful neck and proud shoulders. She’d apparently been wearing a hoodie underneath her pea coat earlier. How sensitive was she to the cold for it to seep through all her fall gear? Sure, the front entrance was drafty, but it wasn’t like she’d been outside.

Before he could continue his observations any further, two plates plunked down in front of them and Annie dove straight in with a wave of her hand and a muttered thanks to shoo off the waiter. After thinking silently to himself that he should’ve ordered what Annie had, Armin quietly picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.

“Oh….” The syllable was low and breathy.

Annie looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, wow.” Armin’s eyes shone at her. “This is amazing!” He began scarfing down his food as if he’d never eaten before. “What is this?”

“You didn’t read the menu?”

“No time before we had to order.”

Annie shook her head slightly. Weird kid. “It’s their specialty noodle dish.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s so good.”

Annie couldn’t help but be mildly amused. The kid was eating like he’d never had Chinese before, and from the way he was muttering about it, maybe he hadn’t, at least, not good Chinese. She was just about to return to her own meal when he caught her off-guard.

“Can I try some of yours?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?” Her harsh tone didn’t seem to deter him in the least.

“I’d be willing to trade. You like this dish too, right?”

She never, ever shared food. But at the same time, she found it strangely difficult to flatly refuse him as she would anyone else. His eyes were shining so brightly and with such child-like wonder and excitement, the thought of disappointing him felt akin to kicking a crying puppy. While she may not be the friendliest of people, Annie was _not_ a puppy kicker, so with a martyred sigh, she pulled his plate over and put some of her fish, rice, and vegetables on it and picked up some of the noodles for herself.

“Thank you!” he all but sang, her grunt of acknowledgement lost in his joyful cries of ecstasy while munching on the food she’d given him.

What the heck? How old was he? He was plowing through his plate with the delight of a toddler playing with his favorite toy. She leaned her chin on her hand and watched him with a studious air. What a weirdo.

Armin leaned back and put his hand on his stomach happily. He hadn’t had food this good in ages. Noticing that Annie had neglected to make any progress on her own meal, he asked hopefully, “Are you going to finish that?”

Her face immediately snapped back to its usual stone blankness. “Yes, and I’m not sharing.”

He gave a forlorn sigh, but reflected that he really shouldn’t make a pig of himself. Dancers had to watch their weight and keep track of the kinds of food they ate, after all. Looking at his dance partner with more interest, he inquired, “How did you find this place?”

“Don’t remember anymore,” she answered between mouthfuls. “It’s been my go-to for Chinese ever since I started at the company a few years ago. Probably was in a bad mood and just stumbled upon it and kept coming back.”

“Mmm, that’s right, Reiner said Chinese was one of your comfort foods.”

“Oh?” She turned her eyes up to her dance partner’s coolly. “Were you two gossiping like old women about me while I was freezing my butt off waiting for you?”

He flushed guiltily. “Umm, well, I wouldn’t call it gossiping.” He coughed uncomfortably. “He told me the two of you and Bertolt grew up together, and I told him a little bit about how practice has been going. When I mentioned we were getting Chinese, he commented on it being your ‘DEFCON 3 comfort food’” he air-quoted.

“He’s got that right,” Annie nodded as she focused on her fish.

“Why did you wait?”

She looked up. “What?”

“Why did you wait for me earlier?” he clarified, his eyebrows furrowed. “You were obviously cold. You were shivering despite wearing a hoodie underneath a pea coat with a scarf and gloves. And I was half an hour late. Most people would’ve left.”

“Then those people are rude.” She returned to her food, no longer interested in the conversation. “We made plans, so until I was told otherwise, I had no reason to think they’d been cancelled.”

He blinked a few times before smiling warmly. “You’re actually pretty nice, aren’t you, Annie?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You generally act cold, but it’s really just that you’re focused on your goals. It’s not because you don’t care about other people.” He chuckled a little. “You’re just kind of awkward at showing you care.” His eyes softened. “I am sorry for keeping you waiting, though. I’ll try not to get distracted in the future.”

She simply slid her eyes back down to hide the faint creeping pink on her cheeks. “Whatever.” She shoveled another bite.

Once they got outside, Armin took a really good look at the address. Considering how inexpensive the place was, it was definitely going on his list of restaurants to frequent often.

“Bye.” Annie made to leave.

“Wait!”

She turned her head, dance bag cocked on her hip.

“I…” he cleared his throat, “I’ll walk you home.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m aware of that, but since it was my idea to go out to eat, I’d feel better if I knew you made it home safely.” He shifted his weight. “Between being late and talking to you while you ate, I’ve probably kept you out later than usual.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m covered.” She took out twin cans of pepper spray and mace.

“I’d still like to walk you home.”

Her patience was running thin. It was nippy and the loony had another long day for them tomorrow. “I’d _prefer_ to walk myself.”

“We’ll both get home more quickly if you’d stop arguing with me,” he reasoned.

“Then stop arguing.”

“Not until you agree.”

Her eyes flashed as she held up one of the cans. “You want me to use this on you?”

He quickly backed away in alarm. For a long moment, they waged a silent war of wills, her cold glare against his shaken but stubborn gaze. Eventually, he lowered his eyes in defeat and scuffed his toe. “Are you taking the subway?”

“What do you think?” As if she could afford to live in Manhattan.

He flushed a little in embarrassment and pressed, “What line?”

“N.”

“Uptown or down?”

“Down.”

“I’m heading in the same direction.” His eyes were entreating. “Would it be okay if I walked with you to the subway?”

She looked at him suspiciously as he smiled uneasily at her before turning to continue walking. “Whatever.”

Annie shook her head in not-quite irritation when she finally closed the door to her apartment. That little sneak had managed to get within two blocks of her place before she’d finally gotten him to go home (by shoving her can of mace in his face with her finger on the trigger, but whatever gets the job done). “What a dweeb,” she muttered as she sloughed off her shoes.

A chivalrous and kind of charming dweeb, but still undoubtedly a dweeb.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow. This chapter took longer than I expected. I had an initial draft awhile ago, but after giving it another read, I realized that it was pretty boring, so I tweaked, expanded, and came up with this. Hopefully it works. The timeline jumps around a little bit, but hopefully it won't be confusing.**

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Since their next individual practice a couple days later went more smoothly than any previous, they decided to spend more time together outside the studio in hopes that their partner dynamic would improve as they got to know each other better. Annie introduced Armin to more restaurants where he puppy-dog-eyed her into sharing food with him and she ate in veiled bemusement while he called her a restaurant genius and regaled how tasty and cheap everything was. They quickly found that eating out all the time was rather damaging to their wallets and not particularly good for their health, though, so they took to bringing food to eat in the hallway and went out only when they’d both neglected to bring food or Annie really needed to break out her DEFCON system. During a discussion about coping mechanisms, Armin revealed that he used binge reading to get through his really foul moods. The subject matter of the books would change depending on how bad the mood was and what had caused it, but it wasn’t anywhere near as well defined as Annie’s system. Then again, it was also more complicated. He’d tried explaining it once, but for some reason, his usual eloquence had decided to desert him and he’d only managed to confuse them both so thoroughly that they’d mutually agreed to never bring it up again.

Whenever they met, they steered clear of talking shop as if by unspoken agreement and instead filled their time with other subjects. To Annie’s surprise, they never ran out of things to talk about. Armin, she discovered, was highly intelligent and held a wealth of knowledge on just about every subject under the sun. But when she’d asked him why he hadn’t become a lawyer, engineer, doctor, oceanographer, etc., he’d simply said that nothing had ever excited him as much as dance, so he became a dancer and dabbled in those other things as hobbies. She supposed it worked, though it was pretty unusual.

At first, Armin had been concerned that he was boring or annoying her since Annie never responded much to his questions, but after about a week, he realized that she just wasn’t a talker. With that revelation, mealtime conversation became much more enjoyable on both sides. Even if she didn’t look it, Armin found that Annie would always listen to whatever caught his fancy that day, which gave him a safe space to nerd out about anything and everything. And whenever Annie did choose to provide input or happened to want some quiet, Armin was always respectful, so this arrangement where he snuck in bites of food between his prattling or immersed himself in a book while she ate suited her just fine. It was strange though. Even if he rambled about subjects she usually couldn’t care less about, he made them interesting enough that she always found herself paying at least some attention. A lot of that probably had to do with the way he chattered as opposed to the content, now that she thought about it. His eyes would light right up and his voice would rise and fall in a peculiar kind of joyful cadence that warmed the surrounding area. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shown emotion so freely on her own face. What was it like to be so unguarded?

Even though he knew she’d refuse for at least a good five minutes, Armin always insisted on walking Annie home after practice. He always won by asserting that he was only walking her as long as it was on the way to his own place, but since she didn’t know where he lived, she never knew at what point of her trip home it stopped being “on the way.” Truth was, it was in the opposite direction, but he intended to keep that his little secret. It was kind of fun seeing how far he could go before she’d actually begin to get fed up with his chivalry. He’d gotten her address from Reiner, so he knew the closest he’d ever gotten was a block away. And being somewhat competitive, he was always itching to beat his high score.

However, despite how well they’d started getting along in private, when they were with the others, she was still the same frostily aloof Annie, and that troubled him. There was only so far their familiarity—and by extension, their partner dynamic—could improve if they kept all progress limited to situations that only involved the two of them. He had a feeling she wouldn't be up for just jumping into the fray, though, so it would be up to him to initiate. It took a little doing, but a few weeks after that first dinner, he got up the courage to put his plan to bring their familiarity to the next level into effect.

The instant Hange dismissed them for lunch Armin turned to his dance partner and tried to make himself heard over the din. “Hey, Annie.”

She paused for a moment and arched a graceful eyebrow. He’d never stopped her when they broke for a break before. Did he need to ask her something about the routine just now?

“Eren, Mikasa, and I are going to grab some sandwiches and meet Connie and Sasha outside. Would you like t—?”

“No,” she cut him off swiftly without a second glance and strode away to her dance bag.

“Oh, uh, o-okay. S-see you later.”

Not many had heard him that time, and those who did simply wrote it off as Armin’s failed attempt to be nice. But as time went on, more and more eyebrows rose at his dogged insistence in asking her to eat with him and whomever else he was with that day. Armin and Annie had avoided each other like the plague for the group lunch breaks up until now, so why was he suddenly going out of his way to invite her every time? But then one day, the unthinkable happened: she actually accepted.

“Anyone tell you too much persistence can get stupid?” she grumbled at him after two straight weeks of this.

He laughed a little and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Constantly.” He smiled invitingly. “Does that mean you’ll come?”

She heaved a great sigh not unlike the one at their first dinner and answered, “Yes….”

“Eeech! Ymir!” a high-pitched shriek wailed from nearby as Sasha wiped off the water the taller girl had accidentally spat all over her. “What’s the big idea?!”

“Sorry, potato, it was an accident,” Ymir apologized between hacking.

“Why is it just potato?! At least add the girl,” Sasha screeched indignantly.

While everyone watched the commotion as the two girls got into it, Annie stated with a jerk of her head, “But I’m not sitting anywhere near them.”

He just laughed. “Okay, I can arrange that.”

After that, while Annie often continued to turn him down, it wasn’t uncommon to see her eating her lunch silently next to him as everyone else talked around her at least a couple times every couple of weeks. She’d even reluctantly share food with him when he asked/begged, much to everyone’s shock. While Annie was nowhere near as into food as Sasha, it was well known how territorial she was about her meals. Thankfully, everyone except for Sasha chose not to say anything about this break in character, and Annie was quick to shut down the brunette’s aspirations of extra food. She’d been weak to Armin’s puppy eyes, but giving into Sasha was an entirely different matter.

However, the thing that made people take notice the most was that over time, Annie stopped practicing alone. When Armin had started dropping out of weekend group practices for the latter half, no one thought much of it. It was pretty common for people to come and go depending on how much one-on-one time they thought they needed, and it wasn’t like he disappeared completely. But then, one by one, people began to notice Annie practicing in the back with him as well. And while no one was exactly sure when it happened, it came to pass that whether it be in their own individual studio or in the larger rehearsal rooms, the sight of her warming up and rehearsing with only the mirror and her music player as her companions was replaced with images of her dancing with Armin, arguing with Armin, eating with Armin, brainstorming with Armin, scowling at Armin, listening to Armin, waltzing with Armin, and talking with Armin. Where once there was one, there now were two.

So all things considered, it was really no surprise that after Armin and Annie had started hanging out together, rumors began to fly about their relationship. The only reason this was unbeknownst to the two of them was because no one was willing to actually _ask_. While Armin had been growing more assertive and was starting to actually believe he was as good of a dancer as everyone knew he was, his balance of self-confidence was still unusually delicate. And now that he and Annie seemed to have started making some real progress, no one wanted to accidentally make things awkward for him. It wasn’t that people thought he was incapable of working through the awkwardness, it was just that Annie would be pissed off all the time until he did. And that would just be bad all around. As for asking Annie about their relationship…well, that was self-explanatory. It didn’t stop Bertolt from mildly probing when Armin asked him if Mexican was Annie’s DEFCON 2 comfort food near the end of month five though.

The extremely tall, dark-haired male scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “DEFCON 2 comfort food?”

“Yeah,” Armin nodded as he pulled on his dress shirt and started working on the buttons. “That’s how Reiner described it anyway. He called Chinese DEFCON 3 and mac & cheese, smothered mashed potatoes, and loaded nachos DEFCON 1.”

“Ah,” Bertholt murmured in understanding. “I guess it is. Why do you ask?”

Armin shrugged and began pulling on his cardigan. “When she came in this morning, she looked majorly pissed off and told me I better have cash on me because we were getting Mexican tonight.”

The words flew out before he could stop them. “You two go out to eat? I knew you’d eat lunch together in the hallways often, but I didn’t realize you’d have dinner together too.”

Armin blinked in the middle of slipping his arms into his winter jacket. “Is that unusual? Don’t you and Ymir eat out sometimes?”

Bertolt flushed and looked away. “Well, yes, but…” he couldn’t bring himself to state the obvious difference that he and Ymir were actually dating, so instead he continued with, “I suppose it isn’t unusual, actually. Annie just hasn’t really hung out with her dance partners outside of practice before.”

“Mmm,” Armin nodded absently as he laced up his boots. “Lone wolf type. Reiner told me about that a little.” He shrugged. “Our dancing has been getting better as a result, so we figure, why stop progress?”

“So…you two are friends…?”

Armin looked confused for a moment before the light bulb came on. “Yeah, I think we’d call ourselves friends.” His lips titled up fondly. “At least, I consider her one. It took some adjustment to get used to her intimidating stares and generally stand-offish attitude, but once you realize that she’s just intensely focused and quiet, she’s pretty cool.” He laughed. “She’s kind of an enigma, which makes it even more fun to get to know her better, and she knows the _best_ restaurants.” Noting the time, he swung his bag over his shoulder. “I’d better get going, though. She was still kind of irritated by the end of practice, so it’s my civic duty to get her to some Mexican before she begins biting off the heads of innocent bystanders. See you Monday if not before!” he waved.

As Bertolt waved in response, he watched the shorter dancer race out of the locker room. There was a nervous haste in the hunch of Armin’s shoulders and a subtle spring in his step that he recognized. There was something about the fidgety way Armin would straighten and re-straighten his cap that was all too familiar. It reminded him of when he’d first started to see Ymir as more than just a dancer whose style matched well with his, when he’d begun to see past her coarse, flippant exterior to the strong, loyal woman underneath. He wondered if Armin was aware how his voice warmed and his eyes brightened when he talked about Annie, how he’d get an absent kind of smile whenever he thought about her. He mulled over the prospect with a slight frown. He doubted it.

Should he try to help? While he himself had never had any romantic interest in Annie, she and Reiner were like siblings to him, so of course he held vested interest in any possible romance that came her way. He liked Armin, and from what he could see, they seemed to complement each other, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. As far as he could see, Annie hadn’t shown any indication that she thought of Armin as anything more than a dance partner that she was on decent terms with. He shook his head and zipped up his coat. It was probably best to just wait and see.

Ymir raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend when he finally emerged from the changing room. “Whad’ya do? Get lost in your shirt?” the lanky girl drawled while idly spinning her cellphone by its strap.

“Talking to Armin…about Annie….”

Her ears perked. “Oh?” She slung a toned arm around his shoulder and brought her freckled face close to his conspiratorially. “So yes or no?”

“No.” She grunted and muttered something about idiots. “But maybe soon. At the very least, I don’t think Armin’s figured it out yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “And the ice queen?”

“Nothing as far as I’m aware.” Bertolt shrugged.

She made a rude noise. “They’re no fun.”

“Who’s no fun?” a muffled voice piped up.

“Good grief, woman, stop talkin' with your mouth full,” Ymir complained loudly when Sasha and Connie came into view. “It’s already bad enough that you eat all the time. Do we have t’ _see_ everything in your mouth too?”

Chuckling a little, Bertolt cut off Sasha’s squawk of protest. “We were talking about Armin and Annie, Sasha.”

“So they’re not together?” Connie asked.

“Nope,” Ymir popped the p. She smirked and dug her elbow into Bertolt’s side affectionately. “Bertl-san thinks Armin might subconsciously have a thing for ’er though.”

Sasha swallowed her potato chips. “Should we try to get them together?”

“Absolutely not!” Everyone jumped a little when Hange abruptly joined their little group. Where in the world had she come from? There wasn’t exactly anywhere to hide in the bare hallway. “They’re doing fabulously on their own and I won’t have you accidentally messing anything up.”

“But—!”

“No buts,” she stated firmly. “I want to see what they can accomplish by themselves.” She eyed them sharply. “Understood?”

The four regulars nodded with varying degrees of reluctance. They could sort of see her point.

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**Sorry if this seems like kind of quick relationship development, but I am unfortunately not creative enough to write an interesting, detailed multiple-chapter-long friendship-building period. I figure that after about three months of spending copious amounts of time with someone just about every single day with the intent of becoming friends, you're bound to get there and the specifics aren't really all that important. I just kind of wanted to show that they're getting closer and slowly shaping one another into better people. If I didn't manage to get that across, then this chapter was a complete and total failure. (x . x)**


	4. Chapter 4

**There’s a tiny bit of background music for this chapter, so flip this on when the chapter indicates if you’d like to read along. Vanessa Carlton’s “Ordinary Day”:<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdmbjaReGmY>, [www.dailymotion.com/video/xidoap_vanessa-carlton-ordinary-day_music](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xidoap_vanessa-carlton-ordinary-day_music).**

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Annie frowned when she got Armin’s text the next morning: “Disabled trains so walking. Be there as soon as I can. So sorry!”

Sighing, she put her music player on shuffle and started warming up. No point in wasting time. Thanks to their rocky start, they were a little more behind than she’d like, but the two of them had been working their butts off to make up for it, so she couldn’t really complain. The guy wasn’t afraid of hard work by any means; she’d give him that.

“ _Disabled train, huh?_ ” she thought absently as she stretched her legs out in front of her and reached for her toes. Her eyes flicked over to her bag as she bent her body. If she wanted to, she could easily look up on her phone which train line was currently out of service. And if it wasn’t her line, she could throw that in his face when he tried to walk her home tonight. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to see the look he’d get when she told him straight up she had proof he was lying about where he lived? She thought of the way Armin had tried to cajole his way into walking her those last few blocks the night before. “ _‘Since we’re going the same direction, we might as well walk together. Surely you can handle that. I mean if you already can’t stand being anywhere near me we’re in serious trouble. With the benefit in May, you’re not going to be rid of me for another few months yet.’_ ” She snorted slightly and pushed away the image of his impishly charming grin and that mischievous, disarming sparkle in his eyes; it was only through sheer stubbornness that she’d managed to resist those baby blues. Same direction, yeah right. If he actually lived near her, then she was the Queen of England. She rolled her eyes. Obviously, like a five-year-old, he’d turned walking her home into some kind of game.

…But as admittedly childish as it was, she found herself reluctant to just let him win. Since he wouldn’t be dissuaded from his utterly unnecessary (but kind of sweet) chivalry, she really _ought_ to be the adult and just let him walk her home without making a fuss. Being well into winter at this point, she certainly wouldn’t begrudge the opportunity to jump into her warm bed more quickly, and considering how threadbare his mittens were, it would be kinder to him as well—she made a mental note to drag him shopping after dinner in honor of Take Better Care of Your Body, You Idiot Day. It was just…. She sighed and stood to lift her ankle onto the barre. What would happen if she did, she wondered. Would he stop walking her home? An unexpected lance of loneliness flitted through her, but before she could properly contemplate the emotion, she dismissed it with a realistic “ _Probably not._ ” She shook her head with a soft upturn of her lips. While his claims to live near her were as fake as the matching knockoff Coach purses she and Mina had in their closets, she believed his desire to make sure she made it home safely to be genuine; he was just thoughtful like that.

It was kind of (endearingly) amusing that he was so concerned about her when she’d lived in this city far longer than he had. While it was true that two people walking together or one guy walking alone was less likely to be targeted than one lone petite female, people generally knew not to mess with Annie Leonhart. But she supposed she didn’t hate having some company on her way home, at least, not anymore. When he’d first started walking her home, she really had resented it. With him tagging along, she’d lost her precious forty minutes of alone time to just decompress from the day. But somehow or another, she’d come to find that listening and talking to him left her just as much if not more refreshed than simply being alone with her thoughts had. And now, she couldn’t imagine her day without pitting her will against his at some point along that fifteen-minute stretch of walking between the train and her apartment. She mentally flicked him in the head with an affectionate wrinkle of her nose. Twerp. Who asked him to come and weave himself so completely into her routine?

“ _He might lord his victory over me afterward, though_ ,” she thought as she switched to her other leg. He probably wouldn't do it often enough to make him insufferable, but she could see him using it as a reason for her to let him walk her all the way back. It was admittedly a difficult one to refute; so difficult, in fact, that it would almost be cheating to use it—because looking at her with those big doe eyes and jutting out that wavering bottom lip weren’t cheating enough. The only question was whether he’d consider it cheating as well or if he’d just smile in that all-too-innocent, all-too-bright way of his and say, “All’s fair in love and war,” or something equally exasperating. Was there anything she could use to counter? There had to be something.

She eyed her bag again. She could check that train. Fight irrefutable reasoning with irrefutable proof. …But that would childish, not to mention a waste of time. They had a scant three months before the benefit and weren’t quite finished choreographing. Her limited practice time should be spent practicing, not stalking her dance partner to try and get information to one-up him in the silly games he insisted on dragging her into. She ripped her gaze away from the bag and huffed. Besides, if the disabled train was anywhere along her route, she’d learn nothing. If she really wanted to know where he lived—so she’d know just how much of a liar he was—she could just ask someone.

“ _Like who?_ ” her snarky inner voice demanded. She started doing floor stretches as she contemplated that. From what she’d gathered, Armin had moved to New York only a couple days before that first rehearsal, so the only people who were certain to know where he lived were Petra (for administrative purposes) and Eren and Mikasa (who were apparently his best friends since kindergarten). While it was possible he’d had other people over during those first two months, since then, he spent virtually all his evenings with her, so unless someone was a secret roommate, anyone else would be risky at best. Reiner and Bertolt had become fairly fast friends with Armin, but they were absolutely out of the question. They’d both blow things completely out of proportion: Reiner with his loud teasing, insinuating stupid things that weren’t happening and Bertolt jumping to similar conclusions and fretting like a mother hen. No, thank you. The only thing that would be worse would be asking Ymir. _That_ she’d never live down. She sighed. If only she was a cute, innocent angel like Krista or as random as Sasha who could both ask personal things like this without anyone thinking twice about it.

“ _Maybe I could get Krista to ask Armin, Eren, or Mikasa…_ ” she briefly considered before shooting that down as well. Ymir would probably ask Krista why she was asking, and while Krista seemed decent at keeping secrets, Ymir wasn’t her best friend for nothing. Then, Ymir would draw the same wrong conclusions Reiner and Bertolt would have, tell Bertolt, and then everything would be a mess. If Ymir didn’t notice, Armin might figure it out despite Krista’s unassuming disposition, and then she’d lose her element of surprise. Not to mention that he’d probably tease her like crazy about not being able to ask herself. If Krista asked Eren or Mikasa, they might think Krista liked Armin. She scowled at the ceiling, feeling inexplicably vexed. Whether Mikasa told Eren or Krista asked Eren directly, he’d definitely say something about it to Armin and then the utterly baseless, distasteful rumors would begin. She sniffed in disdain. All roads led to disaster, so it was better to just not.

Of the viable options, asking Petra would be the most discreet, but she never gave out personal information without a good reason, which would mean Annie’d have to come up with something that could get past even Levi. She sighed and put that on the back burner. It wasn’t impossible, but it certainly wasn’t something that could be achieved without a lot of thought, which was a dumb way to spend her energy at this point. But if she really needed something on him, she’d revisit it.

Which left the childhood friend route. She could ask Eren, but she wasn’t sure if Mikasa would let her get close enough to do so. Annie rolled her eyes. She really needed to get it through her head that while Annie might’ve thought Eren was cute fifteen million years ago, she had no interest in him now. Eren was Mikasa’s. No one questioned or challenged it. Annie sighed. If she couldn’t get to Eren, she’d have to ask Mikasa. But she doubted she‘d answer, and if she did, it wouldn’t be without her having to explain their dumb (kind of fun) game, which she _wasn’t_ going to do seeing as it was none of Mikasa’s business (and it was embarrassing). While the tan, green-eyed man was always the Oriental woman’s top priority, Mikasa’d made it pretty clear that Armin was her precious little lamb. And if anyone messed with him, they’d have to answer to her. Annie paused and furrowed her brow. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t been very nice to Armin those first couple of months. Had he said or done something to keep Mikasa from making good on her threat? Her eyes gentled as she thought back, connecting the dots in her head. Even when she’d scorned him, he’d been quietly protecting her. “ _He really is too nice._ ”

Annie stood with a shrug and rotated her head for one last stretch. She supposed she’d let him keep his secrets. Maybe she’d show him that Vietnamese bakery tonight instead of eating in. It wasn’t too far from a shop that sold winter gear, and he’d commented yesterday that he’d been hankering some bánh mì. Chances were if he was running late because of the trains, he wouldn’t have any food on him. She shook her head in amusement. For someone as intelligent, logical, and organized as Armin was, he was almost laughably inept at planning ahead when it came to basic needs. Nine times out of ten if either of them forgot to bring food, it was him, and she’d long stopped counting the number of times she’d had to remind him to eat when he got caught up talking or reading about something that particularly excited him. She, not his mysterious (useless) roommate, had been the one who’d convinced him (after half an hour) over the phone to stay home when the moron had wanted to come in last month with a fever of 102. She reached down for her music player and thought of the way his face would shine when he was demonstrating a new piece of choreography to her. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid at the same time?

Just as she was about to stop the music, the opening bars of Vanessa Carlton’s “Ordinary Day” began. And after a moment’s hesitation, she shrugged and straightened up. Why not? Armin wasn’t here yet, so she had a little time. She hadn’t done any Viennese Waltz in a while, and for the last few weeks, this song had appealed to her for some reason.

She raised her arms to clasp her invisible partner and envisioned a snow-covered landscape with a single cleared path. Snow lightly fell, a few wisps of wind playing idly with the flakes. Then, image firmly set in her mind, she began. She barely paid attention to the mirror as she waltzed. Her posture was perfect, her shoulders sloped gracefully, her arms strong and elegant, her footwork flawless. An ordinary day, an ordinary dance, but then, in her pristine snowscape, a figure appeared, the gold of his aura a bright beacon as he walked along staring up at the sky of grey.

Her lips quirked. It was Armin. It only then struck her how fitting this song was. She and Armin were ordinary co-workers, ordinary friends. He was an ordinary boy and she an ordinary girl. Day after day, they’d be together following their ordinary routine…. Just a boy, just an ordinary boy, but when he danced, when he talked, when he read, when he smiled, his ever-observant eyes would shine like the burst of the morning. …They shone that way now as he stopped and held out his hand, and as Annie’s eyes closed in real life, she found herself in the scene accepting help up from where she’d been sitting. As she listened and walked alongside him while he talked of ordinary things that somehow seemed to be more amidst the gently dancing snow, real life Annie gracefully twirled and stepped, following the lilting cadence of his voice. She was a continuous flow of movement, delicate and radiant as a snowflake on the breeze.

Armin wheezed with his hand on the doorknob of what he’d come to consider their dance studio. Dancing kept him in good shape, but jogging across the better part of the city was still exhausting. He hadn’t even slowed down when changing into his dance attire, practically throwing his things into his locker. Finally catching his breath, he lifted his head to see what Annie had been up to all this time, and his jaw dropped. Annie was…Annie was _dancing_. The difference from her usual dancing was subtle but stunning. Fluid, lyrical, walls down, inhibitions lost, she was glowing. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was as if all this time, she’d been pretending to dance, and now, she’d fully come into her own.

Entranced, he pulled open the door, turning the knob so slowly, not even a telltale click could be heard. Reverently, he circled the room opposite her and gently placed his things down, not even a muffled thump created to distract him from the vision before him. He could watch her for an eternity. But as he observed from the sidelines, he could see that while she was perfection on her own, the scene itself was lacking. And he felt the familiar longing to move, that undeniable desire to be part of something beautiful. He was well aware that he was unworthy to fill the space in the scene before him, but he couldn't stop himself from pushing himself off the wall and approaching her anyway. Only completion was worthy of the caliber of a dance as beautiful as Annie’s, and though he could only bring his own meager skills as an offering, he’d do his utmost to support her vision. He stopped a small distance away, hardly daring to breathe, and a moment later, he opened his arms and she danced into them, as if they’d known all along this was where she would go.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered when she jerked in surprise, his eyes half-lidded as he pulled her with him into a lift, her hands intuitively flying to his hips to assist as he spun them.

It didn’t take her more than a second to lose herself in the reality as she had the dream. Viennese Waltz was like a whirl of snow—beautiful, delicate, intricate, cold, and detached—and that was how she’d always danced it. She was perfection when it came to Viennese Waltz. But now, here in Armin’s arms as they moved from the lift into a fleckerl—the world spinning around and around almost dizzyingly before he swept them into a journey around the floor—the cold was thawing and turning into rain, cleansing and pure, light and fresh. The perfection was there, the form and sweeping turns that made Viennese Waltz beautiful, but here, with him in the soft smile he had for her and the strong arms around her as he led her from swiveling into a promenade pivot—their feet moving forward in sync before he turned them—there was wonder and laughter, breezy days and sparkling constellations, bursts of color and warm, dappled sunshine.

Hange nodded to herself as she watched discreetly from the doorway. She knew choosing Armin as Annie’s partner had been a good move, even if it had taken a lot of convincing on her part to get the others to agree. There’d been something about him in the audition that made her see the small woman fitting by his side. His strange mix of stubbornness, open sweetness, and cunning would draw her out and her sharp, no-nonsense attitude and subtle supportiveness would give him the push he needed to find his confidence and strength. Seeing the way they glided across the floor in perfect sync, she felt a slight twinge of regret in deciding against giving them a Viennese Waltz, but she wanted to see how their weakest dances would evolve when they were together, so Waltz and Rumba it was. She smiled and silently shut the door. If they could carry what they had in this dance over to the other two, they’d be stunning.

As the song drew to a close, Armin broke hold and pulled Annie into a hug, her arms wrapping around him and her head tucking into the crook of his neck naturally in response. They held the moment, cradled in each other’s arms, his smile in her hair, until he finally let go and beamed at her. “That was wonderful! You’re such a beautiful dancer, Annie.” He looked slightly rueful. “I’m so lucky to have you as a partner. I wish I could dance as flawlessly as you. Your lines, the flow, the expression, it was just…I mean….” He blew out a breath and finished, “You were perfect, absolutely perfect.” With a slight chuckle, he joked, “It’s too bad we didn’t get Viennese Waltz, or we could’ve just performed that right there.” When she didn’t respond, he opened his eyes and his face creased in concern at the struck look on her face. “Annie…?”

Annie’s heart beat strangely in her chest as his words washed over her. He was wrong. That dance just now wasn’t her. She was technical and frosty, not lyrical and vibrant. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny that dance had come out of her. And she was baffled. How had it happened? She couldn’t comprehend it. Then, all at once, when Armin’s eyes lowered in self-deprecation, she knew: it had been him. He’d been the one to unlock this within her. He’d made her beautiful in a way she’d never been before and that beauty was deeper and richer than what she’d achieved on her own. _She_ was the one who was lucky to have _him_ as a partner, not the other way around. But…how had he done it?

She didn’t realize she’d started crying until his fingers brushed featherlight against her lashes. “Hey,” he murmured, his soulful eyes gentle and caring, “what is it?”

She ripped away from him abruptly, slamming the wall down. “I need coffee.”

He blinked. “Coffee.” He’d never seen her drink anything more caffeinated than green tea.

“I’ll be right back. I think there’s a shop somewhere around here.”

His eyebrow furrowed; she seemed agitated. “I’ll go with you.”

“It’s broad daylight, Armin. I hardly need an escort.”

“I didn’t have a chance to stop by the store to pick up food since I was running late. Maybe we can turn this into an early lunch?” He gave her that tentative smile she’d never been good at refusing, and today it made her stomach feel weird too, as if it was doing somersaults.

“…Whatever.”

She breezed into the first café she crossed and immediately regretted it. It was one of those quaint, cute ones people would go to on dates. The walls were sanded wood of warm brown with burgundy-cushioned booths lining them; the tables were a crisp, mellow cream; and watercolor and acrylic paintings of various landscapes tastefully decorated the walls. At the front of the shop was a large show window that filled the airy space with natural light, though at strategic intervals, ceiling lights cast the shop in a warm, homey glow. In front of the window and throughout the rest of the restaurant, there were small round tables with wooden high-back chairs—a lighter, gentler brown than the walls—fashioned in a loopy design with a round, burgundy cushioned seat. Each table was perfect for two and tucked into the space at just the right intervals to maximize the space while giving those that sat at them the illusion of privacy and intimacy. Soothing, instrumental music with an upbeat feel permeated the shop weaving itself among the comforting whirr of machines blending and steaming various drinks, and the air was perfumed with the gently mingling scents of coffee, warm bread, and sweet baked goods, filling the heart with a sense of safety and welcoming invitation. Annie resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. She couldn’t have _tried_ to choose a more awkward location. But she straightened her shoulders and held her head high, refusing to show weakness. She just hoped this place wasn’t cripplingly expensive.

Armin carefully took a seat across from his dance partner, a little confused by her choice. Her shoulders were a little tenser than usual making him think she wasn’t entirely comfortable, and from the way she accepted the menu from the hostess, it seemed she hadn’t been here before. They’d never gone anyplace she hadn’t been before. Shrugging, he chose not to dwell on it and instead fished around in his jacket pockets and pulled out an oval case.

Annie looked up when she heard a soft snap and widened her eyes. Armin wore glasses. How had she not known that after all this time? Her face heated a little as she watched him peruse the menu, glasses perched lightly on his nose. The blocky black frames made him look older and more intelligent. It was pretty hot. She immediately blanked her expression and chased the thought around and around in her head trying to comprehend it. “ _Hot? I think he’s hot? Sure, he’s sort of cute with that boyish enthusiasm and a little charming with his dorky code of chivalry, but hot? Armin’s not—_ ” her brain derailed when he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and bite the right corner of his mouth in thought, and she immediately fixed her eyes to the very safe menu and kept them there until the waiter came by to take their orders.

After their menus had been cleared away, Armin leaned on his hands and smiled at her. There was her stomach flipping again. “So coffee and sandwiches aren’t part of the DEFCON system?”

She just shook her head, her eyes staring out the window without really looking. What was wrong with her? She’d never had trouble meeting his gaze before.

Armin frowned. She was acting as distant as when they’d first met. “Annie, what’s wrong? Do you not feel well? We can always practice another day.”

“No,” she negated tersely, “we’re already behind. I’m fine; it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I don’t want you getting si—”

“Drop it.” Her tone brooked no arguments. They sat in awkward silence for a long moment before Annie sighed and searched for a conversation topic. It wasn’t fair to take her newfound weirdness out on him, and she refused to let these unwelcome… _reactions_ get in the way of months of hard work. Casting her eyes back on his troubled face, she murmured, “So…glasses, huh?”

“Huh?” He looked up in surprise. Usually he was the one who had to draw _her_ back into conversation. When she raised a prompting eyebrow and motioned with her eyes, he finally processed what she’d said. “Oh, yeah,” he chuckled as he slid them off. Annie mentally cursed when he didn’t become any less attractive. “They’re for reading. I just have a little bit of trouble focusing up-close, so I don’t need to wear them all the time.”

“Why haven’t I seen them before? You read all the time.”

He cocked his head. “I do?”

She nodded. “For the last week or so you’ve been reading about cartography and deep sea imaging whenever you’ve had a moment to yourself.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot I’d brought that.” He laughed and rubbed his neck. “Most of the time, I only read on the train, so I usually leave my glasses in my locker. Since I was in such a hurry today, I forgot to put them away.”

She gave him a pointed stare. “It’s not that far to the locker room….”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” he sighed ruefully. “Are you going to start policing my glasses habits too?” he teased, inviting her to share in the joke.

She glanced out the window again, fighting back the heat she felt rising in her cheeks. “It’s not my problem if you want to ruin your eyes.”

“True,” he chuckled.

“How come you’ve never used them to read a menu? We’ve gone out to eat plenty, and you have all your stuff with you.”

His eyes softened in affection. That was easy. “Because you’ve been everywhere we’ve gone before and know what’s good already. Your recommendations have yet to steer me wrong, so I just randomly choose something from what you like. This is the first time we’ve gone someplace you’ve had to look at a menu.”

She moved her gaze over to the rest of the shop, embarrassed that he’d paid attention to something like that. Good grief, this place really was the perfect date location. This was beyond awkward; why couldn’t he have the decency to feel the same? “Hopefully they have good coffee.”

“And sandwiches.”

Her mouth twitched into an almost invisible smirk. Glutton. “And sandwiches.”

Since the mood had considerably lightened, Armin allowed the conversation to lull and instead studied Annie as she went back to staring outside. What was going through her head, he wondered. She was in her thinking pose: chin cradled in the palm of her hand and tongue tucked into her left cheek. Her lips were tilted just a fraction down, so it wasn’t something particularly unpleasant, but her brow was lightly furrowed, which meant she was trying to solve something or find an answer to a question. The faraway look in her eyes indicated that whatever it was was unfamiliar or unexpected and thus troubling. He bit the corner of his lip. What sort of problem lay at the intersection of all these criteria? Was there anything he could do to help? Would she even let him help? He blinked when a plate appeared in his line of sight, breaking his stare. Right. Restaurant. Eating. Food. He’d completely forgotten.

Once they’d dismissed the waiter with quiet thank yous, she reached over and swapped one of her triangles with his. “What?” She puckered her eyebrows at him after taking a couple bites of her turkey club.

It was only then that he realized his mouth had fallen open. He must’ve looked pretty dumb. “You’re sharing food without me dragging you into it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were just going to beg, plead, and guilt-trip me with those big puppy-dog eyes to trade some in a few minutes anyway. Might as well bow to the inevitable.”

He grinned and gave a small shrug that said, “Guilty as charged,” then reached over and squeezed her hand, making her pulse stutter. “Thanks, Annie. You’re the best.”

She carefully extracted it and returned to her food. “Better believe it.”

Annie hardly heard a word Armin said as he chattered brightly, choosing instead to think about what had just happened. There wasn’t any way around it: she was falling for Armin. What in the world? She was smarter than this. Wasn’t _she_ the one who’d warned Bertolt of the drawbacks of being romantically involved with your dance partner? Ugh. She scrutinized her lunch companion surreptitiously. As ridiculous as it was, while she’d looked at Armin a lot over the months they’d spent together, she’d never really _looked_ at him. It wasn’t that she’d considered him unattractive or anything, she just honestly had no reason to pay attention to that sort of thing. Even if he was the first dance partner turned friend she’d had outside the people in the company, she wasn’t going to see him again after eight months, so what did it matter if she remembered what his face looked like? She supposed that last part was still true, but now she _wanted_ to look.

To help maintain the illusion of paying attention, she started with his hair. Chin-length locks of burnished gold framed a round face with an adorably pointed chin. His hair had been slightly mussed by the wind, making her fingers itch to comb through it to see if it felt as soft and smooth as it looked. High, delicate cheekbones flanked an adorable button nose that lent youthful innocence to the rest of his face, and her eyes rested on his full, chapped lips, watching the shape of them change as he spoke of worlds she’d never known existed until he’d come into her life. His voice wasn’t overtly masculine, but there was something about its rich tone and colorful timbre that reached deep within a person and never left. Her gaze swept surreptitiously over his shoulders, arms, and chest. They weren’t particularly broad or muscular, but there was definition, strength, and something undeniably male there that made her heart flutter unsteadily. It was a bit of a trick, but she finally managed to find an angle where she could look at his eyes without specifically meeting his animated gaze. Even when she’d considered him beneath her notice, she’d grudgingly admired his eyes: clear and blue like the mingling of the sky and the sea, swirling with knowledge, enthusiasm, and warmth. All emotions flickered through his gentle, open eyes.

She chewed carefully, holding her poker face like a cloak around her. This was totally not her fault. With Armin’s tenacity in reaching out to her, his overall thoughtfulness, and his physical attractiveness, it would’ve been stranger for her _not_ to fall for him. What female could resist such a combination? She paused for a moment when brushing some crumbs off her fingers. Now that she thought about it, why didn’t he have a girlfriend? Was it because he was short? Was it because he lacked confidence? “ _Probably that one_ ,” she reflected.

While Armin had gotten a lot better at not qualifying the living daylights out of every suggestion he made, he still didn’t seem to quite believe he was as good at anything as he was. Whenever he told her his own hypotheses based off things he’d read, he’d often precede his comments with things like “This is just my opinion,” “There isn’t currently any evidence supporting this,” and “I’m no expert.” Not to even mention how long it’d taken her to convince him to speak up when they danced together if he wanted to try something; she’d scathingly called him out on more than one occasion on wasting both of their time if he had a solution and refused to present it simply because of something as trivial as her potentially not liking it. While she could see how that shaky confidence might be a turn off, he was kind, intelligent, easy to talk to, good-looking, interesting, and could _dance_ ; he ought to be hitting girls off with a stick. Well, she supposed it was just as well. Now that she was interested in him herself, she didn’t really want to share.

She hid a small frown by sipping her coffee, the caffeine skittering through her nerves like a live wire. She’d likely never see him again in a few months, so pursuing a relationship would be stupid. This was probably a good thing: she’d never been good at flirting and dating, and they had an enjoyable friendship. She poked him and nodded at his plate to remind him to eat, and he took a bite and shot her an affectionate, appreciative smile in response. Her heart gave a languid twirl before stumbling. She hid a sigh in her mug. “ _Telling him how you feel would be pointless_ ,” she firmly reminded herself. It was just a simple, unprofessional, inappropriate crush.  She’d get over it; she’d done it before, and she would do it again. But as she watched the man who’d opened up a new dimension of dance to her talk happily about whatever it was she hadn’t been paying attention to, she couldn’t help but think, “ _There are worse people I could like._ ”

* * *

**Say what? I actually wrote some dancing? =P The song and feel for the dance as well as that lift Armin started with I got from here:[ **http://www.** youtube.com/watch?v=Q7HrlN0YQjs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7HrlN0YQjs), <http://vbox7.com/play:d559f429>. When I saw that lift at the end, I couldn’t not put it in. Even if Annie’s not wearing a skirt in this chapter, it was just too gorgeous to ignore. Whenever I used a dance term, I tried to give a quick little description of what it looked like, but in case I failed to get the step across, this is a fleckerl (<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=El_N0Ywmr7E>) and I had a video of the swivel into a promenade pivot, but the account was apparently terminated while I was writing this chapter. =/ I wanted to put in more dance steps, but since I didn’t have an actual routine plotted out in my head, I figured I’d focus more on describing Annie’s mental shift.**

**For those of you who can’t view Youtube videos in your country, I’m sorry, but please look up the steps yourself if you’re interested since I doubt the same instructional videos will be available on multiple streaming sites.**

**I hope I managed to keep Annie in character. I feel like it’s hard to keep her in character when you’re writing from her point of view. While Annie’s nowhere near emotionless, I find it hard to play up that quiet, stoic side of her when her emotions and thoughts are on display for the world to see. (X_X)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so sorry this took forever. Between writer's block (Armin was being incredibly uncooperative) and my laptop dying (yay trying frantically to save my files), it's been kind of a rough chapter. I hope this chapter's enjoyable enough to make up for the wait at least a little bit. *cross fingers*  
**

**Here's a little optional music if you want to hear what Annie is later in the chapter. "Kissing You" by Des'ree:<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLgD8z9vSXY>.**

* * *

Armin didn't know what exactly had happened to make Annie dance the way she did now, but he loved dancing with this new Annie. They moved together like they had in that Viennese Waltz, giving and taking as the music flowed around them. Dancing and choreographing felt so natural now. It was still hard work, but he was enjoying it so much, he'd happily spend all his time with her in the studio if their bodies didn't require food and sleep. And from the compliments they'd been getting from the others, it wasn't just his imagination either. All their hard work was _finally_ starting to pay off!

Unfortunately, their Rumba still wasn't perfect, but it was pretty good, and more importantly, it was _done_. Since it was their weakest dance, they'd decided to focus on it for six sessions straight. At this point, it was alluring, technically flawless, and visually appealing, but it lacked…well, romance. Which was singularly unfortunate because he knew that spark of romance was just the thing the dance needed to bring it all together into something magic. Both of them were to blame for that lack, he perhaps more than she since he honestly had no idea what it would mean to be in love with Annie of all people, but considering where they'd been a month ago, he'd take it. If practices continued as they had, they'd be able to fake it by the time the benefit came around, he was sure of it. He knew a brother and sister who'd had to dance the Rumba for an exhibition once, and they'd done great despite the palpable awkwardness of their early practices. If those two could do it, they could too.

Which brought them to the Waltz.

The two of them sat cross-legged on the floor of their studio with their music players out, calling out various songs that were met with negative responses for round who knows what of let's pick a song to dance to. It was frankly a travesty that they'd had to go back to picking music with two and a half months left before the benefit, but that morning when they'd started rehearsing what they'd worked out over the last few months, something felt undeniably off. At first, he'd thought it was just that they weren't completely familiar with the dance anymore since they'd had that break, but as they kept going over what they'd choreographed and tried to improve sections that dissatisfied them, it became more and more obvious that the problem wasn't in the steps. There were multiple passes and sequences Armin knew in his bones were perfect for the vision of the dance they'd developed together, but they just weren't meshing right. It took a couple hours since they were both trying so hard to make it work, but eventually, he suggested they find a new song and she'd quickly agreed.

" _Ugh._ " Armin leaned back in exasperation after having yet another song shot down. His brain felt dead, as if it had done a triathlon. This was getting nowhere. How many songs had they gone through by now? At this point, he was ready to use a random number generator just to pick something they could agree to not hate like they had their Rumba.

He lifted his head to suggest it when his eyes fixed on the wisp of gold Annie was tucking behind her ear. Now that he thought about it, he'd never seen her hair free from the confines of its ballerina bun. Even when he'd dragged her with him on random Sundays to go do touristy New York things in the name of building camaraderie, her bangs were cemented firmly to her scalp with bobby pins. He bit his lip and traced the contours of her face, the strand escaping from its place behind her ear and lying softly against her cheek. " _I wonder what she'd look like with her hair down._ " In his mind's eye, a halo of soft, flowing dawn that swept her shoulders lightly tumbled down around her face, her crystalline eyes peeking wordlessly through the flaxen screen of her bangs before lowering back down. His breath caught. " _Beautiful_."

He blinked then pulled his eyebrows together. " _Okay, this is beginning to get weird._ "

Despite the unattractive ways her face could twist when she was displeased, Annie had always had a certain prettiness about her, he supposed, but until just recently, he'd only ever thought her beautiful when she danced. Her shapes, her flow, her lines—when she danced, she was beauty incarnate. But when she was still—Armin took in the stern hunch of her eyebrows as she grimly searched for a new song—Annie was more handsome than beautiful by most standards. " _At least…_ " he reflected thoughtfully, " _she's not beautiful like a model or an actress is._ " Her face had too many angles to be soft and charming like Krista's; her coloring too light and her features too chiseled to possess the striking mystery and fine quality of Mikasa's; her expression was so often flat or drawn in a negative emotion that struck a sharp contrast to Sasha's refreshing, beguiling nature; her short stature had nothing on Ymir's flawless, mile-long legs; and while she wasn't underdeveloped by any means, her body lacked the full curves Petra possessed. " _But…._ " He watched her finally give up and pin the thread of hair back with an impatient scrunch of her lips. He couldn't deny there was something about Annie.

His eyes traced the features he'd come to know these last few months almost better than any other.

The sharp angles gave her face character and strength. It was a face that inspired confidence. Well, maybe confidence wasn't the right word. No, actually, that sounded about right. As strange as it sounded, thanks to her Spartan, pragmatic personality and her harsh looks, he felt more validated and sure of himself when she sided with him or acknowledged his ideas than he did with other people like Krista who were more soft-hearted. He loved Eren and Mikasa like family and treasured their opinions above anyone else's, but Annie was quickly earning her way into playing a close second. Sometimes she'd push back on him, forcing him to have to explain things in further depth to bring her around to his side, but he kind of liked that. That stern face somehow made him…up his game if that made any sense. And contrary to making him afraid of being shot down, it excited him to know there was someone analyzing right alongside him, challenging him, and drawing the best out of him.

Her light coloring rather than washing her out, set off the pale pink of her lips and ocean shimmer of her eyes. It also highlighted the deep crimson of those flushes of embarrassment that would steal across her razor-edge cheeks like a shooting star against the night. It was adorable, like the red her nose would turn from being out in the cold, though he'd learned the hard way that calling her Rudolph was a one-way ticket to a full-day limp. Her skin was clear and smooth, almost translucent, like a canvas to color at will. His eyes went glassy as he thought of her at the end of a long workout: face stained red, skin glowing, breathing labored as she cooled down…. He instantly dispelled the image with a firm self-scolding. " _Keep it together, Arlert._ " This was his first really big break in a long time. He needed to focus and be professional; if he played his cards right, this gig might lead to other jobs either here or elsewhere. Fantasizing—however briefly—about his dance partners wasn't conducive to any of his objectives.

His face softened when he saw her sigh and take up her thinking pose. She must be trying to remember if she'd suggested that song before. His lips curved up in pride. He liked to think he'd gotten fairly good at reading her. All it had taken was a little attention to detail. While he'd found that Annie could be fairly expressive if one was paying close attention, overt displays of emotion—like those blushes he'd just been thinking about—were so rare, he always felt like he was getting away with something whenever they happened. It was really cute…and fun. Because Annie relinquished the little bits of her that would sneak out so reluctantly, every new expression was a discovery, and the researcher in him didn't dare tear his eyes away for fear of missing something. His inner detective found it fascinating to puzzle out the meaning behind a particular flicker of an eye or shift in posture. Even her flat expressions were never truly neutral; there was always something to niggle out or decipher.

It was charming, like her petite, proportionate build. While dancers tended to be on the shorter side, he figured at least half of the women he'd met were taller or the same height as him, and the numbers only got worse when you put them in heels. Height-wise, Annie was perfect for him, her face always close to his when she slipped into her ballroom heels. Four-inch heels would make her taller than him, but only by like a millimeter, which was really nice for a change. Admittedly their height and weight similarities made lifts a little more complicated, but he'd never been much for lifts anyway. Much to his chagrin, despite doing the same training as Eren, Armin had never been able to build up the same kind of upper body strength as his best friend.

His mind wandered to a semi-lift he wanted to do for their Waltz if they could work it in somehow. First, she'd arabesque, arms gracefully extended, left leg parallel to the floor. Then, he'd catch her from behind and hook her leg around him, spinning them over to a new section of the stage as she slowly turned her body so she could cup his cheek with her hand. He sighed in appreciation as he envisioned the way her torso would press up against his as she arched her back, the curve of her hip fitting snugly against his, creamy throat exposed and gracefully arced, her skirt swirling in the air around her shapely leg as her dainty foot would just barely skim the floor, showing off her slim ankles….

"…min. Armin. Anybody home in there?"

"Huh?" He jerked to attention. "S-sorry, what was that?"

"Did you find a song?"

"Umm, no, sorry. Why do you ask?" he inquired when he saw the touch of confusion in her eyes.

She shrugged. "You were grinning."

He was? He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Something random came to me; that's all." His smile felt a little off.

She frowned, but just nodded in understanding and turned back to her screen.

Armin looked guiltily down at his music player. How long had he been slacking off? They were so behind. This wasn't the time to be losing focus. His eyes sharpened and he gripped the device in determination. He'd make it up to her. He'd find the perfect song, and then—he grinned, thinking about that lift—they'd get to dance together again.

That enthusiasm had flagged after having another ten songs shot down, though. His eyes flicked over to his partner who was scowling as song after song scrolled past her on the screen of her music player. Obviously, he wasn't the only one running out of ideas. He frowned. It'd been awhile since he'd been responsible for eliciting such an unpleasant expression on Annie's face. He didn't like the feeling.

"What's your favorite Waltz song?" he asked abruptly. To his delight, she unexpectedly colored in embarrassment. It was cute.

She averted her eyes and mumbled, "'The Love Theme from _Romeo and Juliet_.'"

He couldn't help but smile. Annie was so funny sometimes; for some reason, she thought feminine things clashed with her image. He didn't really understand it since she was a _dancer_ of all things, but he supposed everyone had his or her own particular insecurities, so he just tried to be supportive. "That's a fantastic piece of music. Somehow I'm not surprised, though. You seem like a _Romeo and Juliet_ girl."

"Oh?"

"Mmmhmm, it's an achingly romantic, depressing love story with lots of violence. Right up your alley."

"So…I'm violent and depressing," she said dryly.

"And a closet romantic."

"Then am I destined to fall in love with someone I can't be with and commit suicide?" she asked, an ironic slant to her voice.

"I hope not. I'd miss you," he replied honestly.

She stared at him with an unreadable expression for a while before muttering, "Thanks," and looking away.

He frowned and grabbed her hand, tugging it until she met his gaze. "I mean that, Annie. We didn't get along that well at first, but I consider you a good friend now. I'd be heartbroken if you died." He winked and added cheekily, "How else would I find all the good restaurants in the city?"

"I feel so loved." She rolled her eyes and punched him lightly in the arm, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Back on topic, though, do you want to do it?"

"Mmm…since we've already got an instrumental with our Rumba, I kind of want to avoid another one, but we can still do _Romeo and Juliet_."

"I'm not that crazy about 'A Time for Us,' 'Ai Giochi Addio,' or 'What is a Youth?'" she objected.

"Oh, I didn't mean those. I was thinking of 'Kissing You' by Des'ree." At her blank look, he clarified, "You know, the love theme from the 1996 _Romeo + Juliet_ with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes?"

She stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Tell me you didn't actually watch that."

"Honestly, I kind of liked it."

She fought back a smile and leveled an even stare at him. "This, right here, is me judging you so hard right now. Who thinks it's a good idea to set a Shakespearean play in modern times and not update the English?"

"Okay, that was admittedly kind of weird," Armin acquiesced.

"And it wasn't even accurate. They saw each other right before Romeo died; how messed up is that?"

"The main points were there." He smiled in bemusement. "For someone who hasn't seen this movie, you seem to know a decent amount about it."

"It was the first half-decent attempt at bringing _Romeo and Juliet_ to film in almost thirty years, people talked."

"You should at least listen to the song and not let your ignorant prejudice get in the way."

She shrugged. "I'll pass."

Armin pouted before suddenly getting a calculating gleam in his eye. "If you don't listen to it now, I'm going to make you watch the movie with me tomorrow."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I know where you live, and I'm sure I could convince your roommate to take pity on me and let me in."

"No." She should've known letting him in that one time so he could use the bathroom would bite her in the butt.

"I'll bring popcorn and Junior Mints. I'll even throw in loaded nachos and some bottles of that fizzy Italian water you like." Her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly and his spirits soared. She was weakening. "I can probably con some mac & cheese for dinner out of Mikasa too." As the words left his lips, he knew he'd won. Annie would rather die than admit it, but Mikasa's mac & cheese was the best. He watched her calmly as she glared at him. " _…1…2…3…4—_ "

"Jerk."

Checkmate. "So you'll watch it with me?" he asked, unable to keep the gloating triumph out of his voice.

"No," she swiped his music player and started searching, "I'll listen to the stupid song."

He wisely hid his self-satisfied smirk and hummed noncommittally. He'd expected as much even if it would've been fun to carry out his threat. He really liked hanging out with Annie. Whether it was dancing, eating, seeing the sights, or doing something as ordinary as stopping at the store on the way home, things somehow just seemed more fun and interesting when she was there.

Once she closed her eyes to better listen to the song, he frowned slightly, the furrow of his brow pensive. That look had surfaced again. Ever since that abnormal café visit, he'd noticed this strange mix of sadness and vexation would flit through Annie's eyes at random times. As a result, he wondered about that day a lot, even thinking about that instead of reading on his way back from dropping her off. What had she been thinking about then? Had she found her answer? Why was it every so often when they were together he'd catch sight of that quickly masked flash of pain? His face darkened. The only time he'd ever seen her look sad was when she'd told him about her deceased mother—it was because of her influence that Annie was a dancer now—but this was different. That sadness had been mellowed by fondness and time; this was raw. Something was wrong right here, right now in the present day, and she was trying to hide it from him. He wished she'd to talk to him about it. He didn't know if he'd be any help, but on and off the dance floor, he wanted her to rely on him.

Not that the likelihood of that was high. Annie was strong and solitary. She'd lost her mother when she was six and had half raised herself as a result. Since her father owned a judo dojo, he didn't have a lot of time to devote to his daughter. Despite that, though, the man seemed to be a good father, making time where he could and providing all the necessities plus some extra. Unfortunately, the dojo didn't do well enough to keep up with all the expenses and cover Annie's dancing, so she'd had to take on part-time jobs to pay for classes and shoes. This along with juggling a good chunk of the housework, helping out at the dojo, and dancing left virtually no time for socializing, only enhancing her naturally withdrawn personality and isolating her from her peers even further. The only chance she really had to make good friends was in dance class, and as unfortunate as it was, Armin knew from experience that in the world of dance, girls could be unbelievably cruel to one another. There was just too much competition for a limited number of positions. Talented, disciplined, and quietly passionate, the only reason Annie hadn't been outright bullied was probably because people had been intimidated by her martial arts background. It was the perfect recipe for someone who shoulders all her burdens by herself. He should know, as her story wasn't all that different from his. He just happened to be more willing to rely on others and had gotten physically bullied in school.

His shoulders sagged. Why _would_ she turn to him? Even _he_ wouldn't turn to him. He was weak, poor, intimidating as a rabbit, and hadn't known her that long. Annie had Bertolt, Reiner, and Mina. What did she need him for? Envy stabbed him in the gut; it was unreasonable and selfish, but no less real. One of them, if not all three of them, probably knew what was wrong. They could help her. They knew what she needed and had the means to provide it. Not like him. All he could do was stand there uselessly and watch her suffer, or maybe try to distract her in what pitiful way he could. He clenched his fists in self-loathing. It was so frustrating that even after all this time he still didn't have the power to help his friends.

" _Stop that_ ," he scolded himself. This wasn't about him. Annie was the one who was important here.

His eyes went back to the lithe dancer as she sat with an intent look on her face. " _What are you thinking?_ " he wondered again. He caught a flash of perspective as her eyelashes fluttered and her lips pursed slightly. He was only guaranteed to be around for another couple of months. That probably wasn't even enough time to learn what _this_ expression meant, much less the other one.

" _Two and a half months_ _ _…_._ " The corners of his mouth pulled down solemnly and his eyes went pensive. If anyone had told him during those first couple months of practice that in a few months, he'd be this disappointed at the thought of not getting to work with her anymore, he'd have politely suggested that person admit himself into a mental institution.

He sighed. He didn't like it, but if all he had was two and a half months, then the best course of action was probably to take things slow and continue to show her—deficient and imperfect that he was—that he cared, and leave the heavy lifting to those in Annie's inner circle. Part of him balked at the thought of doing so little, but he knew this was the right course of action. True companionship was something Annie hadn't had much of for much of her life, and he was in a unique position to provide it. His eyes gentled when he noticed her taking his earbuds out. He couldn't give her what the others could, but there were things that he could do, and maybe that was enough.

He put on a smile and scooted closer to her, setting aside his thoughts for another time. " _Back to work._ " "So…?" He looked at her expectantly.

She pursed her lips and looked away. "It doesn't totally suck."

He grinned widely and stood. "Considering the lyrics, I think it would make more sense to start separately. Agreed?"

"I didn't say we could do this song," she complained as she took his hand. He gave her that knowing smirk she inexplicably found simultaneously irritating and outrageously attractive.

"We both know you like it, so just admit it. We'll get more done that way."

She wrinkled her nose in that cute way that made him want to poke the crease between her eyebrows just to see what she'd do.

"Fine, and yes, separate is better. It's _Romeo and Juliet_."

"Great. There's something I wanted to try out with you first, though."

She nodded and stepped comfortably into his arms, anticipation humming through him as his hands settled on her waist. He couldn't wait to get started.

After they were done, Armin convinced Annie to stop with him for hot chocolate on the way back to her apartment. They'd successfully finished choreographing, and he wanted to celebrate a little. His was gingerbread with marshmallows and hers peppermint with a dab of whipped cream. He closed his eyes and enjoyed her sharp, refreshing flavor before reclaiming his own warmly spiced drink. He laughed as he watched her lick off her marshmallow cream mustache, his eyes dancing impishly when she stuck out her tongue at him. Ever since that day in the café, Annie had taken to wordlessly sharing everything she ate and drank with him even if he'd had it before. It was a pretty sweet deal. His lips turned up in an absent smile as he took her empty cup from her gloved fingers. He'd have to go back there with her sometime. This was some of the best hot chocolate he'd ever had.

"What did you think?" he asked after he threw away their trash.

"The marshmallows made yours too sweet."

"What? Blasphemy. Marshmallows are the best."

"Tell that to your dentist. I could feel the cavities forming with that one sip."

"Were you ever a kid?" he teased. "I'm starting to doubt it since you're unable to appreciate the greatness that is the marshmallow."

"Did you ever grow up?" she threw back. "The only things people really use marshmallows for are s'mores and Rice Krispies Treats."

"Which are also phenomenally delicious."

She rolled her eyes and pushed past him. "I'm officially tacking your mental age at five-years-old."

"If I'm five…then you won't mind if I do this!" he cried as a snowball whapped her in the arm.

She turned and narrowed her eyes, daring him to do it again. Satisfied after seeing his cowed expression, she continued walking and was promptly pelted with another snowball to the back. She whirled with a death glare. "You want a piece of me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he claimed, the picture of innocence as he sidled up beside her. He linked his arm through hers and began to tug her along. "Come on, we need to get you home. Mina, Bertolt, and Reiner would never forgive me if I let you turn into an Annie-sicle."

Annie eyed him warily, her suspicions only increasing when he smiled charmingly at her. He was up to something. Suddenly, a piercing shriek rent the air as icy fire flamed across her neck, Armin running away with a gleeful laugh.

She fixed him in her sights and brushed the fistful of snow off her neck. "Arlert!" she screeched. "You are so dead!" She took off after him like a shot, scooping snow off the ground and packing it as she ran.

Armin paled when he saw her coming. She looked like the Angel of Death on a rampage with tendrils of hair flying and blazing fire in her eyes. He was dead. He was absolutely dead. Annie Leonhart was going to slaughter him and chop him up into tiny pieces. His only hope was to get to her apartment and hope Mina would have mercy on him. Fleeing for his life, Armin pelted down the sidewalk, slipping and sliding as he dodged Annie's icy bullets, yelping loudly whenever one managed to find its mark. Just short of her door, she tackled him into a snowbank and waged war.

"Stop! Annie! Stop! Oh my gosh, that's so cold! I give! I give! Please, please stop! I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!" he begged as he squirmed beneath her, trying in vain to block and dodge her icy fury. When he realized she wasn't going to let up, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. This was the end….

The assault stopped.

Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other. Annie was hunched over shaking. Concern lanced through him. Did something happen? Was she hurt? He didn't think he'd hit her or anything, but he'd been panicking, so anything was possible. He sat up and gripped her shoulders. "Annie…?"

A fluttery, gasping sound escaped her. Then, it became louder, like the rich peal of bells. She was laughing, completely cracking up and dying on his lap. His lower jaw dropped straight to Antarctica.

She wheezed and snorted as breathing became difficult, her eyes dancing with mirth and her cheeks flushed and rosy. Wiping her eyes, she pushed herself off of him and giggled with an adorable snort, the sound fluttery and reserved. "That'll teach you to mess with the ice queen," she quipped before smiling at him and swiftly running to her apartment so he couldn't retaliate.

In all their time together, he had never seen her smile or laugh. Look amused, yes. Look content, yes. Tilt her lips in approval, yes. Smirk or sniff in thin acknowledgement of his bad jokes, yes. But actually _smile_ or _laugh_ , no. The closest he'd probably ever come to making her laugh was that time he'd made her accidentally spew Ginger Ale out her nose when he dragged her with him, Eren, and Mikasa to Coney Island.

Her smile was understated and minute, but dazzling, like the first ray of sunshine peeking through rain clouds before the light fully breaks through. And he knew then, as all the ordinary, insignificant moments over the last six months crested over him and crashed around his ears, that he was toast.

* * *

**Whoo-hoo! Feelings are mutual! \\(^o^)/**

**I might get hit for this, but I don't think Annie is really all that pretty. Armin obviously thinks she's pretty, though, so maybe I'm safe. *laughs* Most people can probably agree that Mikasa and Krista are very pretty and are supposed to be considered so. Annie, on the other hand, I think has a different kind of beauty that grows on you, which I tried to show here. I'm afraid I still made Armin too dense, though. *sigh* All I can hope for from this chapter is that Armin came off as a deep thinker and not super emotional. I wish I knew how to properly write men. Thank you to FFN user Toto Yoshio for helping with that. It was nice to pick the brain of someone the same age as my characters. =)**


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